


I swear I'll find summer in your winter

by orphan_account



Series: Pacific Rim AU [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they saved the world. What next?</p><p>(A short sequel to, 'I sang in my chains like the sea'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eaivalefay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eaivalefay/gifts).



> A couple of you requested Thorin and Bilbo's date, and then the lovely eaivalefay had to go and mention something about a _library_ and...well, here we are.
> 
> It's in two parts because it worked out better that way in terms of pacing. The second chapter will be out within the next week. This is likely going to be the fluffiest thing I've ever posted. It may rot your teeth. You have be warned.
> 
> The title comes from a poem by Ian Thomas. You can read the full quote [here](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/801934-if-i-breathe-you-in-and-you-breathe-me-out).

The ride back to Base was largely lost to Bilbo. He would later remember pressing sea-salt kisses into Thorin’s bearded cheek, breathless with relief, but he would be unable to recall the mess of words that tumbled from his mouth, shaped by stress and gratitude. Flashes of emotions, sights and sounds were all blurred together indiscriminately; being hauled up into the waiting helicopter, the gentle hands of the medics looking them over, the flash of blue and brighter blue that made up sea and sky – this was all that Bilbo was left with in the wake of their rescue. But there was one tangible memory that seemed to thread all the rest together, a constant that settled Bilbo’s heart whenever he thought of it: the feel of Thorin’s hand in his own, their fingers interwoven, not parting for a second, not even when the medics began to assess their collective hurts.

But the toll of battle and his near-suffocation was too much for his aching body, and his jumbled-up memories came to a definite end when he passed out before they reached the Base, the sound of the helicopter’s engines following him even into unconsciousness.

 

 

His tired and overwhelmed mind could process little when he next awoke. The low lighting, the sharp, clinical smell of the medical wing, the scratch of the bed-sheets – these were all he knew for the first few minutes of his return to the waking world. His body ached with the dull and distant ache of pain being held in check by the really _good_ kind of drugs. The medical teams must have removed his armour and circuitry suit at some point, to replace them with a lightweight t-shirt and trousers, and he felt strangely naked without its solid weight on his shoulders and limbs.

For a few moments he was content to do nothing more than lay there and listen to the beep of the monitors, his thought processes blunted by the drugs, the pain and the exhaustion. But he steadily became aware of a disquiet that reached right down to his bones, an itch in his mind he couldn’t scratch, and through his tiredness he registered that something was terribly wrong. He frowned, unable to understand why his breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps with every passing second.

And then, in a flash, he thought, _Thorin_.

The dwarf was still there, he realised, a dormant presence resting quietly at the back of his mind. Bilbo tilted his head instinctively to the right, and his whole body relaxed on a sigh. His co-pilot was laid out on the bed next to him, barely a foot away. But he still wasn’t close enough.

Driven by some unknown instinct he couldn’t explain, even if he had been blessed with a clear mind, Bilbo shuffled himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the flash of pain that shot through every muscle in his body at the movement. He shut his eyes against it as heaved himself up into a sitting position, and paused for a moment, taking a breath and collecting himself for the next stage. His IV drip was strung up onto a moveable hook, and the bag swung around wildly when Bilbo put his bare feet to the cold floor and pushed himself up and off the bed.

Thorin was just a step away. Bilbo concentrated on that above all else, above the aches of his recovering body and the endless tiredness. With shaky legs he shuffled forwards, and collapsed gratefully onto the bed next to Thorin.

The hospital beds were one-size-fits-all, designed to accommodate even the tallest of Elves. Bilbo was therefore afforded a great deal of space when he flumped down on Thorin’s bed, his IV bag trundling along obediently behind him. Bilbo could feel unconsciousness encroaching forcefully on his mind, but he resisted its pull to observe his co-pilot. Thorin’s face was slack in sleep, peaceful but lined with extreme exhaustion. Cuts littered his face, and a nasty bruise was blooming just along the edge of his jaw. One eye was hidden beneath a swathe of bandages, and Bilbo would find time later to worry about that. 

Thorin was radiating nothing but the quiet calm of unconsciousness, not even dreams, and it was making Bilbo drowsy. The unease that had been beating away at the back of his perception slipped away. He breathed in Thorin’s distinctive scent, drank in his presence, and felt sleep begin to wash over him like the tide slowly claiming the shore. He reached out and clasped one hand around Thorin’s uncovered wrist, curling up onto one side to face his co-pilot, and let sleep claim him once more.

 

 

The first thing he saw upon waking for the second time was Lobelia’s face, hovering just above his. She had clearly been crying, her face splotchy and her eyes red. Bilbo would have liked to tell her this, just to see her scowl in that very particular way of hers, but he couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to do much more than blink at her.

‘Oh, Bilbo,’ she said, voice watery, ‘I don’t have long. I’m just, I’m just so glad you’re alive.’

Bilbo attempted to say how very glad he was about _being_ alive, but all that came out when he tried to shape his mouth around the words was, ‘mfghhhg.’

Lobelia smiled, seemingly bursting with happiness. But Bilbo could think more clearly, now, could remember the events that lead to him being in the hospital wing. One by one, they passed through his mind, each leaving him heavier in their wake. Grief was a physical weight, pushing down on his ribcage and constricting his lungs. How could Lobelia smile, when Kíli and Fíli were dead?

Something must have shown on his face, because Lobelia’s smile faltered, and she shook her head, brows furrowed in confusion.

‘Didn’t they tell you?’ she said.

Bilbo finally remembered how to speak. ‘Tell me what?’ he croaked.

Lobelia let out an unsteady breath. ‘They’re alive, Bilbo. They’re _alive_. We picked them up shortly after you and Thorin. They were complaining even as they were bundled into the helicopters. They only stopped when the medics sedated them.’

‘They’re alive?’ echoed Bilbo, and now it was his turn for his eyes to brim with tears.

‘Yes, they are. And you saved the world, Bilbo. Not a bad day, in all.’

‘I had a little help,’ said Bilbo, giving her a meaningful look, but Lobelia just grinned and shook her head, her expression becoming sly when she deliberately flicked her gaze over to the bed’s other occupant. Bilbo suddenly became aware of the gentle breaths ruffling the ends of his hair every few seconds. His body had apparently recovered enough to blush, his cheeks flooding with heat.

‘Good to see you took my advice,’ said Lobelia.

‘You do make sense occasionally,’ said Bilbo around a half-smile.

Lobelia’s grin widened, then shifted into a soft smile once more. Gently, she brushed back the lank hair lying across his forehead to press a kiss to the skin there.

‘Sleep,’ she commanded, and as always, Lobelia got her way.

 

 

The medical wing was strangely quiet, in spite of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Bilbo would have thought that every single personnel on the Base would have gotten drunk within an hour of the good news. But some of them still had a job to do, and the doctors and nurses went about their duties as usual, albeit with wide smiles and frequent bouts of spontaneous hugging.

One of them, a male elf, came to explain Thorin’s injuries to Bilbo. He should not worry about Thorin’s lack of consciousness, the elf said, as it was perfectly natural after all that Thorin had been through that his exhausted body would be in need of rest.

Thorin had sustained numerous injuries in the Breach, including two broken ribs and abdominal trauma, but the worst of it by far were the after-effects of his solo piloting of _Orcrist Sting_. The neural overload had damaged his right eye. They had no way of telling if Thorin would regain his vision in that eye. 

Bilbo sat on the bed, unable to remove his hand from Thorin’s wrist, even though his fingers were cramping up.

‘I know this is hard to believe,’ said the doctor, whose name was Lindir, ‘but he has had a lucky escape.’

Bilbo said nothing, looking down at his sleeping co-pilot.

‘Bilbo,’ said Lindir, and he waited patiently for the hobbit to look at him. ‘Truly, he was lucky,’ the elf insisted. ‘This was his second attempt at piloting solo. By all accounts, he should be dead. No one can withstand that kind of neural overload even _once_ , but twice-‘

‘Thorin could,’ said Bilbo softly.

Lindir smiled. ‘Evidently. He will recover. You may just have to be patient with him. Let him sleep for as long as his body needs to.’ Lindir paused to shuffle the files in his hands, bringing another to the top. 

‘But Thorin wasn’t the only one who was injured,’ he added.

‘I’m fine, just a little tired,’ said Bilbo, but Lindir was already shaking his head.

‘You’re exhausted, which can be dealt with, but the burns on your arms and the damage to the muscles…‘ he trailed off.

‘Will it affect my dexterity?’ asked Bilbo bluntly, though he found he hardly cared one way or another.

‘We’re not sure,’ admitted Lindir. ‘We’ll have to wait and see, and perform some more tests over the next few days. In the meantime, I’m prescribing _rest_. It’s the best thing for you.’ The elf gave him a stern look, ‘and no alcohol, no matter how tempted you are to celebrate with all of the rest.’

Bilbo smiled. ‘I’ll try, doctor.’

‘See that you do,’ said Lindir, and took his leave.

Bilbo ran the pads of his fingers over the bandage that hid Thorin’s eye. His left arm lay by his side, strangely numb and weak, but he gave it no more than a passing thought. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. 

_We saved the world_ , he thought, whispering at the still-sleeping presence of Thorin at the back of his mind. Thorin didn’t respond - Bilbo hadn’t expected him to, but he felt better for doing it anyway; the idea was too big for Bilbo to grapple with alone, far beyond his capacity to contemplate. He tried something a little smaller. _We helped save Ered Luin_. No, still too big.

 _We saved our friends. Our family_ , he thought, and a pleasant, warm weight settled over his heart. They were alive – battered and bruised, but _alive_. Even Kíli and Fíli, and wasn’t that unbelievable? 

Bilbo could feel himself smiling, cheeks aching. It was, in fact, entirely unbelievable, and he needed to see it with his own eyes. Certain that Thorin wasn’t going anywhere, and with the link still reassuring him that his co-pilot was alive, Bilbo went in search of Kíli and Fíli. He was a little wobbly on his feet, but after a few steps his legs remembered what walking was and he managed to make it out onto the corridor without falling over, which Bilbo counted as a victory. A smiling nurse, with a balloon tied around her wrist, kindly pointed the way towards Kíli and Fíli’s room, which was just a little way down the corridor. She offered to help him walk there, but Bilbo assured her he could make it on his own.

On the television screen in the waiting room, Bilbo caught a glimpse of what he assumed was the news. A live feed displayed the packed streets of Ered Luin, but Bilbo could barely see the people through the confetti raining down on the celebrations. A group of doctors and nurses were gathered around, watching the feed avidly, and a couple of them looked to be on the brink of tears, all of them so engrossed that they didn’t even notice Bilbo shuffling past them.

Kíli and Fíli’s room was set out just as Bilbo and Thorin’s was, with the beds set close together, and no sound save for the steady beep of the monitors. But the boys were not alone.

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, ‘I can come back later, if you-‘

‘Nonsense,’ said Dís from her place at Fíli’s bedside, ‘come in. You’re welcome, here, Bilbo.’ She smiled at him kindly. ‘You should know that.’

Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to that, so he merely shuffled into the room, standing at the foot of Fíli’s bed. It was quiet in their room, still in a way it never was around Kíli and Fíli, but Bilbo thought it a peaceful, settled sort of quiet. He took in the sight of them, and a tension he hadn’t known had been carrying lifted from his shoulders. Both Dwarves were all but hidden under swathes of blankets so that only their heads were visible, and their faces were pale but with a reassuring amount of colour high on their cheeks.

‘How are they?’ asked Bilbo, because he needed to hear it for himself.

‘They were suffering from hypothermia when the retrieval teams picked them up, Fíli broke his collarbone and Kíli all but shattered his wrist,’ said Dís, ‘along with numerous other injuries that will mean they will be tired and sore for a long while yet.’ She passed her hand over her mouth briefly, eyes full of bright relief that she scarcely knew what to do with. ‘But that aside, the doctors inform me that they will both make a full recovery. They’re exhausted, but.’

She broke off, and Bilbo could imagine what she had been about to say. _But they’re both alive_.

‘I’m so very glad,’ said Bilbo. Words could not do justice to how he felt, could not express the wad of emotion lodged at the back of his throat. ‘I’m so _very_ glad,’ he said again, trying to hold back the hot tears. He put his good hand on Dís’ right shoulder, as much to comfort her as to support him. It was a move that he would never have dared to do before, but here, next to the sleeping forms of Kíli and Fíli, they were not commanding officer and Jaeger pilot, but simply friends reeling from their unexpected good fortune.

Dís put her own hand over his, squeezing it briefly.

‘I keep thinking I’m about to wake up,’ she said softly, ‘that this is all a dream. I can’t...I can’t seem to...’ she trailed off, and Bilbo pretended not to see the tears in her eyes. She gave a small chuckle. ‘Tauriel is probably knee-deep in work right now. I’m sure there’s something I should be doing, but she insisted I stay here. I think she’s staged a mutiny.’

‘If she has, it’s the most efficient, well-meaning mutiny in history,’ Bilbo said, and Dís smiled.

‘That practically sums Tauriel up in one sentence,’ she said.

She reached out and brushed back some of Fíli’s unruly golden hair from his face. The young dwarf didn’t stir, not even a twitch – he must have been very heavily sedated. Dís continued stroking Fíli’s hair, and with a pang Bilbo remembered his own mother doing the same to him, gently brushing back his curls from his face whenever he fell asleep next to the fire at Bag End, his head inevitably pillowed on a book.

‘Will you let me know when they wake up?’

‘I’m sure I won’t have the chance before they come bounding into your room,’ said Dís, ‘but yes, I will, if you’ll do the same for my brother.’

‘You’ll be the first to know, I promise,’ Bilbo assured, ‘though it might not be from me. When Lobelia told me that Kíli and Fíli were alive, I could scarcely believe it. I had to come here and see them for myself. If _I_ had to see them with my own eyes, I dread to think what Thorin might be like.’

Dís snorted, tearing her eyes away from her sons long enough to share a look with Bilbo.

‘Then try at least to make sure that he doesn’t injure himself too much on the way over,’ she said.

‘I’ll try,’ promised Bilbo, though he privately thought that trying to stop Thorin was like trying to halt an unstoppable object in its tracks.

Bilbo turned to take his leave, but Dís’ voice stopped him in the doorway.

‘Bilbo,’ she said, and, there was something in her tone that caused Bilbo’s spine to straighten, as though they were standing in her office once more and not in a hospital ward. 

‘When all the celebrations are over and done with, and all of us are conscious,’ Dís said, ‘we will have to have a chat. We will need to talk about what peace means - for all of us.’

Bilbo gave a half-nod, unsure as to what she meant, but too drained to think about it for the moment. He said his goodbyes, closed the door quietly, and hobbled back to his room.

Thorin was still unconscious, but Bilbo could be patient. He dropped into a chair by Thorin’s bedside and watched the hours of the day tick by, content to sit and think and process all that had happened. The battle was still too raw to recall, so Bilbo turned his mind instead to the days before the final assault on the Breach. If a week ago someone had told Bilbo that he would save the world and fall in love, all in the space of a few days, Bilbo would have laughed in their face and recommended them for a psych evaluation. And yet here he was, at the bedside of his Dwarven co-pilot, with newly-made scars to show for his deeds. Life was full of wonders.

And Bilbo was certain it was love, or something very close to it. There was no other way to describe the way he felt when he was around Thorin, the way Thorin’s half-smiles and dry humour and warm glances caused a bright bubbling in his heart, a soft glow that never dimmed.

But there was no rush to quantify it. They had time. His thoughts drifted to his and Thorin’s date, and he wondered what sort of food Thorin liked – in the Mess Thorin had eaten whatever was on offer, just as everyone else did. There was no room for pickiness during rationing. But Bilbo wanted their date to be perfect for the both of them, and he was half way through musing if Thorin would like the sweet pastries his mother used to make when Thorin’s mind began to stir.

Bilbo sat bolt upright in his seat, his breath caught in his throat, all of his focus narrowed into that spot in his brain where Thorin’s presence was uncurling like a cat waking up from a nap.

He lifted his hands to Thorin’s nearest arm, gripping as tightly as he could, even in his weakened, clumsy grip, watching the dwarf’s face intently.

Thorin’s one eye slid open, staring at the ceiling and blinking rapidly, clearly trying to focus his vision. Bilbo gently reached out trough their link, and had the pleasure of feeling Thorin’s mind slowly unfurl and awaken.

 _Thorin_ , Bilbo said, and Thorin’s eye flickered towards him. Recognition caused Thorin’s mind to light up like a candle set ablaze, and Bilbo gasped as emotions began to pour through the link – relief and adoration and amazement, and _relief_ , but then grief dimmed them all, muting every emotion and casting a grey haze over Thorin’s very soul.

 _No_ , said Bilbo quickly, pushing back against the wall of numbness that was attempting to separate them, _no, Thorin, they’re alive, they’re safe_.

Thorin’s lips parted, his disbelief evident and warring with distress, so Bilbo brought the image of Kíli and Fíli in their hospital beds to the forefront of his mind. _I swear to you, they’re alright_.

Thorin stared at him for several long moments, then drew in a ragged breath, collapsing back onto the pillows.

‘I promise, they’re safe,’ soothed Bilbo, unable and unwilling to look away from Thorin.

The dwarf gave a tiny, infinitesimal shake of his head. Bilbo held the image in his mind’s eye, keeping it fixed there until Thorin’s breathing evened out.

Thorin licked his lips and said, in a rough whisper, ‘and you? Are you alright?’

As he said this he lifted his closest hand, running it over the bandage that was wound round Bilbo’s arm. Bilbo shivered at the touch, ghostly as it was through the wrappings, and took Thorin’s wandering hand in both of his own.

‘I’m more worried about _you_ ,’ said Bilbo. ‘Just…try not to do any more solo piloting, would you? At least, not any time soon.’

‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that,’ Thorin said, ‘we lost _Orcrist_.’

‘Yes, we did. It’s a shame – I liked her.’ _I liked piloting with you_ , whispered Bilbo’s traitorous, soppy mind before he could stop himself.

Thorin smiled, bringing up his other hand to cup Bilbo’s reddening cheek.

‘To see your face again…is a blessing I don’t think I deserve.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Bilbo briskly, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest at the way Thorin was looking at him, ‘you saved the world. I think that deserves a medal. A statue, at the very least.’

‘ _We_ saved the world,’ Thorin corrected.

‘Alright, two statues then.’

Thorin huffed a laugh, wincing as his bruised ribs contracted painfully. His hand slid away from Bilbo’s cheek to rest on top of his and Bilbo’s intertwined hands on the bed, as though the link in their head was not enough for him. Bilbo could understand the feeling.

‘How is everyone else?’

‘They’re all well, as far as I’ve heard. No casualties. Legolas and Gimli are in fine health, aside from some minor injuries.’

‘Good.’

‘Though there might be one if I don’t tell your sister you’ve woken up. She’s two doors down, watching over Kíli and Fíli.’

‘I wouldn’t expect her to be anywhere else.’ Thorin’s eye darted down to their joined hands, then up to Bilbo again. ‘And now I have a favour to ask you.’

‘Oh, no,’ Bilbo said, because he could see exactly what Thorin had planned. ‘Of course you do.’

‘I need to see them, Bilbo-‘

‘May I remind you this is _not_ a good idea? That your body is bruised and hurt in a dozen different ways and it would be best if you just lay in bed for a while?’

Thorin merely looked at him solemnly, and Bilbo had his answer.

‘I’d say the Breach addled your mind, but I think you were already quite mad,’ sighed Bilbo.

‘Quite mad,’ agreed Thorin, ‘though you are madder for having stayed by my side. I could not ask for a kinder, braver, nor more steadfast co-pilot.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ muttered Bilbo, ignoring Thorin’s resulting smile. ‘Alright, alright. Just try not to crush me, would you?’

 

 

 

To say that the Base had been celebrating was to underestimate exactly the kind of revelry Elves, Dwarves, Humans and Hobbits could whip up when they put their heads together. The Mess had been completely taken over, three of the long tables and benches unscrewed from the floor and pushed to one side, and personnel were now dancing in the empty space to the music blasting out over the requisitioned comms system. The words, “APOCALYPSE: CANCELLED”, and “YEAR ZERO”, had been painted in huge letters across the far wall. Someone had clearly been hoarding party streamers, balloons and confetti; Bilbo could barely see the slate-grey floor of the Mess through the rainbow of colours littering the floor. Bilbo smelt good beer and roasting meats and all manner of cuisines, and his mouth began to water in moments, his eyes zeroing in on the buffet table set up near the back.

Unfortunately, he was apprehended before he got there. As soon as he and Thorin set foot in the Mess, they were descended on by a wave of well-wishers, the cheering so loud it even muffled the music for a few moments. Bilbo immediately latched on to Thorin’s arm, determined not to lose him in the swell of people, grateful that the staff were conscious of their wounds, and did not try and slap them on the back for their efforts.

Grinning and shaking people’s hands and accepting good wishes was a tiring affair, for all that it caused Bilbo’s very being to lift, and so he and Thorin stole away as soon as they could, sitting in one corner with a plateful of food each, content to watch the celebrations unfold. The food was far better than anything Bilbo had tasted while in the hospital wing, and Bilbo dug in with a gusto that was matched by Thorin. Where on earth such high-quality foodstuffs had come from, Bilbo had no idea, but he suspected Tauriel’s hand in it, wherever the elf may be. Bilbo had not seen real, fresh bread for a very long time, and he pointedly ignored Thorin’s raised eyebrows when he broke open a loaf just to smell the inside.

For a while they didn’t speak, allowing themselves to relax and let their eyes wander over the partying staff, who had all clearly been on edge for far too long if their current antics were anything to go by. Bilbo almost choked on his food when he saw Lobelia dancing on one of the tables, showing the dancers below a funny little jig that went to the beat of the music, and he almost choked again when she reached down into the crowd to drag a laughing Bofur up onto the table with her, using him to demonstrate the dance moves, berating him when he kept getting it wrong.

 _This is very surreal_ said Thorin through their link.

 _It is. I’m half afraid it’s all a hallucination from the drugs they gave me,_ replied Bilbo.

_There’s going to be some very sore heads in the morning._

 _Lobelia with a hangover. Oh dear,_ said Bilbo, and laughed when Thorin blanched at the thought.

 _Perhaps you’d better-_ he began, but he broke off, and they were sitting so close that Bilbo felt it when Thorin's whole body tensed.

Bilbo turned to see Thorin’s attention firmly fixed on the entrance to the Mess, and he immediately understood why. Kíli and Fíli, supported by their mother and Tauriel respectively, were standing in the threshold, staring at the party with wide eyes, still dressed in their hospital clothes. They both looked as though they had just woken up, blinking slowly in the bright lights.

One by one, the party slowed and stopped, people turning to face the two newcomers. But no one approached as they had with Bilbo and Thorin – instead they stood tense and expectant, waiting for something to happen.

And that something was already in motion. Thorin stood unsteadily, gaze never leaving his nephews, and began to approach them. Bilbo’s tensed, fixed in place by the same strange sense that held sway over the rest of the personnel.

Kíli noticed Thorin first, turning to look at him, Fíli mirroring his brother a second later. Bilbo couldn’t read either of their expressions. Thorin stopped before them and looked them both over. For a moment long, expectant moment neither party did anything, then two things happened at once: Thorin stepped forwards to embrace them, and Tauriel and Dís pushed one brother in their back each, urging them forwards into the hug.

A great cheer went up, beer bottles and wine glasses raised in a toast. Bilbo swallowed around a lump in his throat, the wash of emotions from Thorin almost enough to bring him to tears. He watched as Thorin hugged Fíli and Kíli close, tight enough that it surely must hurt with all of their collective aches, and his nephews were returning the favour in kind, if their white-knuckled grip on the back of Thorin’s hospital shirt was anything to go by. If Bilbo had been unable to read their expressions before, he could now – no one could miss the way Kíli all but buried his head in Thorin’s shoulder, nor the way Fíli seemed to crumple and bow into the hug. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. He had no doubt that the three of them still had a long way to go, but their reunion today would likely help a great deal.

Thorin released them both, stepping back to whisper something that made Kíli duck his head and Fíli stand up straighter. But the crowd’s patience was at an end, and Thorin had to step back and out of the way, lest he be crushed in the stampede as Kíli and Fíli were swept up in the same welcome as Thorin and Bilbo had received. Putting his food to one side, Bilbo went to join the rest, though he had to wait his turn to see them. 

Bilbo quickly found himself swept up in a hug before he could even get out a ‘hello’. When they parted, Bilbo took his fill of looking at them.

‘Should you be up and about?’ he frowned, taking in Fíli’s arm in a sling and Kíli’s right wrist, set in a plaster cast.

Kíli groaned, ‘I _knew_ that was going to be the first thing you asked us.’

‘We didn’t even get a, “glad you’re alive”,’ said Fíli mournfully.

Bilbo hit him on his good arm. ‘I’m very glad you’re both alive,’ he parroted.

‘We’re very glad _you’re_ alive,’ Fíli said in the same tone, though he was fighting a smile.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Kíli, ‘we’re alive, but I’m sure there’s supposed be something vaguely bottle-ish in my hand,’ he said, looking down confusedly at his wiggling fingers.

‘Hmm, yes, I have the same feeling,’ chimed in Fíli, frowning at his own hand.

‘It seems strangely empty,’ said Kíli, brow furrowed.

‘And it’s going to _stay_ empty,’ said Dís, suddenly appearing out of nowhere right next to Kíli. Both of her sons jumped, but Bilbo, who had seen her coming, merely tried to hold back his laughter.

‘No alcohol for either of you,’ she said sternly.

‘We weren’t talking about alcohol, were we?’ said Kíli, all innocence, looking at his brother with wide eyes.

‘No, of course not, what do you take us for? We were talking about water. Need to stay hydrated when after you’ve just saved all life on Middle Earth. Isn’t that in the rulebook, somewhere?’ said Fíli. 

‘Always have to stick to the rules,’ said Kíli, and Bilbo had no idea how he’d managed to say that with a straight face. ‘Come, brother, let’s go and get us some lovely, fresh water and food.’

Kíli slung his arm carefully over Fíli’s shoulders, and together they set off in the direction of the buffet table, noses in the air.

‘I am going to be taking beer bottles out of their hands all night,’ predicted Dís resignedly.

She was, as usual, quite right. 

Bilbo and Thorin found each other again through the press of people, sitting back down side-by-side on the benches, and Kíli and Fíli came over to join them at their table with what looked like half of the buffet piled high on their plates, and Kíli was carrying a whole chicken leg in his mouth. They also each had a beer in hand.

Thorin gave the bottles a look, but he needn’t have bothered – Tauriel swooped in and stole both of them before Kíli or Fíli could take even a sip.

‘Oh, come _on_ , Tauriel!’ Whined Kíli.

‘You can’t be planning to drink both of those yourself,’ protested Fíli.

‘I can and I will,’ said Tauriel with utmost seriousness.

Kíli blinked at her. ‘Tauriel are you…are you going to get _drunk_?’ he asked, as though such an idea was foreign and strange to him.

‘It’ll take more than a few beers for that,’ said Dís as she sat down next to Fíli, smiling when they groaned.

‘But we’re the saviours of the world! We're _heroes!_ ’ said Fíli.

‘Are we not allowed to have _any_ fun?’ said Kíli.

‘No,’ chorused Dís, Tauriel and Thorin all at the same time.

Bilbo almost choked on his water from laughing so hard at their wounded expressions. Thorin gave him a few pats on the back, looking mildly concerned.

Fíli and Kíli did not stay down for long, though. The food alone was enough to lift their spirits, and the atmosphere in the Mess meant that no one could remain unhappy for long, so infectious was the prevailing good mood. 

Their happiness was bolstered when Lobelia approached their table, her cheeks flushed either from alcohol or from dancing, or a mix of both. With a perfectly straight expression and without a word of hello, she dumped five bars of chocolate into Kíli and Fíli’s laps, a veritable treasure load of food. Kíli and Fíli all but leapt on her, hugging her as best they could, a stream of increasingly unbelievable compliments tumbling from their mouths. Lobelia laughed at their reaction, then shrieked as they lifted her – rather unsteadily – onto their shoulders, and proceeded to take her on a victory lap around the Mess.

Bilbo found himself alternating between laughter and worry at the spectacle, as Fíli and Kíli looked as though they were going to drop Lobelia several times during their lap. The staff raised their glasses as she passed, and Bofur, who was still stood on one of the tables, carefully placed a paper crown on her head of curls as she passed him.

Lobelia was set down on her feet safe and sound, and she appeared to be torn between laughter and indignation at her ordeal. Her paper crown was slightly lopsided, and she hurried to set it straight. Fíli winced and rubbed at his shoulder, but brushed off Lobelia’s resulting worried fussing with smiles and a suggestion that she could repay them by getting them some beer. Much to Bilbo’s surprise, Lobelia did exactly that, but the bottles did not even touch Kíli and Fíli’s hands before they were whisked away by Dís.

But the failed second attempt made Kíli and Fíli even more determined to outwit both Tauriel and Dís. Bilbo and Thorin were granted a great deal of entertainment simply from watching the their increasingly outlandish attempts at sneaking a drink, only to be thwarted at the last second by Dís or Tauriel, who both seemed to be able to appear and disappear at will. Round and round they went, and though Kíli and Fíli surely had to be exhausted, they seemed to have an endless supply of energy in their pursuit of alcohol, much to Dís and Tauriel's consternation.

Lobelia would not allow them to sit idly by as mere observers, though. She demanded that Bilbo and Thorin join her on the dance floor, at least for one song. 'Just because you're heroes, doesn't mean you get to laze about, you know,' was the way that she put it to them, arms crossed, her glare somewhat mitigated by the crown she still wore. 

Bilbo's first response to her demand was hesitation. Kíli and Fíli might be energetic enough, but Bilbo was beginning to feel the effects of being awake for more than a few hours, his body not yet fully recovered from his exhaustion. He exchanged a look with Thorin, and the dwarf looked as reluctant as Bilbo felt.

'I'm not sure, Lobelia,' started Bilbo, 'I think I'd rather just sit here-'

'You should dance with him, Thorin,' said Dís, who had been unashamedly eavesdropping on their conversation, 'don't let those dance lessons we had as children go to waste.'

Bilbo whipped his head around so fast he thought he might get whiplash.

' _Dancing_ lessons?' he exclaimed.

' _Dancing_ lessons!' yelped Kíli, accidentally elbowing his brother in his side.

Thorin folded his arms, looking extremely defensive. He glared at Dís heatedly and said, 'they were mandatory. Our mother made us-'

'Come now, Thorin,' interrupted Dís, unholy glee lighting her eyes, 'don't lie to poor Bilbo. You _liked_ dancing. You told me so yourself.'

There was a small, muffled sound, like someone desperately trying not to choke to death on their own laughter. Kíli and Fíli were both staring outright at their Uncle, food forgotten for the moment.

'Dís,' hissed Thorin warningly, looking like he might try and leap across the table at any moment and make a grab for his sister.

'Thor-in,' sing-songed Dís back at him, smiling sweetly.

'You can dance?' blinked Bilbo, who still felt like he wasn't quite up to speed. He flinched when Thorin's glare shifted to him. The dwarf searched Bilbo's face for any signs of teasing, his hard stare fading in surprise when he found nothing but honest curiosity. Bilbo was very glad that their link was no longer strong enough for Thorin to sense Bilbo’s deep sense of amusement, carefully hidden away.

'I can,' said Thorin through gritted teeth. 'I just chose not to.'

'You'll have to teach me sometime,' said Bilbo mildly, 'I've always wanted to learn.'

 _Perhaps it'll be a bit like piloting together_ , Bilbo thought, and Thorin's whole bearing softened.

'Oh, for goodness sake,' huffed Lobelia, 'enough of your sappiness, are you or aren't you dancing?'

'Dancing,' said Bilbo, looking away from Thorin at last to give her a nod. 'Are you sure you don't want to?'

Thorin shook his head. 'It's fine,' he said.

'And you two?' said Lobelia to Kíli and Fíli, 'can you tear yourselves away from your food long enough to dance?'

'I think we can,' replied Fíli, standing from the bench and pulling his brother - who was still staring at Thorin as though he had never seen him before - up and onto his feet.

'At last!' said Lobelia, and without warning she hooked her arm through Bilbo's and all but dragged him out onto the dance floor.

Bilbo was glad, in the end, that he took her up on her offer. There was nothing quite like dancing with your friends, singing along at the top of your voice to some goddawful cheesy pop song, surrounded on all sides by happy people doing exactly the same thing. Bofur joined them, attempting to dance the jig Lobelia had shown him earlier, but he kept getting it wrong, or missing out steps altogether, which caused Lobelia to shake her head and instruct him as to the proper way of doing it. Bilbo suspected Bofur was getting it wrong on purpose.

As enjoyable as it was, there was only so much Bilbo's worn out body could take, and he gracefully bowed out after just one song, slipping away from the dance floor to collapse into the seat beside Thorin, rosy cheeked and out of breath from his exertions.

'You've gone up in the world since I last saw you,' remarked Thorin.

Bilbo looked at him confusedly until Thorin gestured to his head. Patting his hair, Bilbo found that he was wearing Lobelia's crown, and, chuckling, he took it off and put it carefully on the table. Bilbo noted that Dís had disappeared off again to parts unknown, and they were thankfully alone again at last. It had been an enjoyable evening, a memory Bilbo would treasure for a very long time, he was sure, but he was also exhausted, and he found himself thinking longingly of his bed. He was relieved that, for the moment at least, he could simply sit in silence with Thorin.

For a while they did just that, and Bilbo was so completely at ease that he began to drift off. But his sleepiness all but evaporated when Thorin suddenly ducked his head towards one of Bilbo’s pointed ears and said, in a low rumble,

‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten our date. As soon as we’re both well enough, I should like to take you up on your offer.’

A shiver ran down Bilbo’s spine. There was a warm intent to Thorin’s voice that caused his stomach to tighten and his heart to beat faster. Bilbo tilted his head towards Thorin, the dwarf so close that their noses bumped when he turned.

‘If the offer still stands,’ added Thorin, eyes dropping down to Bilbo’s mouth.

‘It still stands, it _definitely_ still stands,’ said Bilbo with a shudder, and he took his chance while no one was looking, closing the remaining distance to meet Thorin in a sweet kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for the long wait between chapters! And, in typical me fashion, this last chapter has turned out to be so freaking huge that I'm going to post it in two parts. It felt like it needed to be split because of the pacing - I wasn't happy with posting it all in one go.

The next day found Bilbo and Thorin back in the Mess once more, this time in search of breakfast. For all that they had been in their hospital room for just two days, Bilbo was already sick of it, and he refused to spend a moment more in there than necessary. Thorin had agreed wholeheartedly, and the two of them had suffered through a series of tests and checks and the re-wrapping of their bandages before the doctors finally released them.

The Mess was a strange sight to behold, stranger that morning than it had been the previous evening. Evidence of the Base’s celebrations were everywhere, and Bilbo pitied the poor grunts who would have to clear up all the mess. It was largely empty, save for a handful of people scattered about, gathered in small huddles and eating their breakfasts quietly, or nursing single glasses of water with the look of those suffering from truly terrible hangovers. Some of them didn’t even look like they’d made it to bed; Bilbo had to carefully step over the sleeping form of an elf – who curled up around an inflatable Kaiju – as he made his way towards the serving hatches. Bilbo raised his eyebrows at Thorin, and Thorin gave a little shrug in reply. Keeping their voices low, they requested their orders from the bleary-eyed serving staff, and attempted to find a relatively clean section of one of the tables to eat.

Bilbo was half-way through his scrambled eggs when Lobelia all but tumbled into the seat next to him, her head coming to rest on the tabletop with a _thunk_ and a groan.

‘Lobelia?’ attempted Bilbo tentatively. ‘Are you-‘

‘No.’

‘Is there anything-‘

‘No.’

Bilbo placed his glass of water in front of her, just in case she changed her mind, only to have it moved away two seconds later by Bofur, who plunked a steaming cup of coffee down in its place.

‘I’m afraid only the good stuff works on her when she’s like this,’ said Bofur, sitting down on Lobelia’s other side and looking far too cheery for someone that had downed just as much – if not more – alcohol as Lobelia.

Lobelia let out a small groan, which was either an agreement or a general noise of discontentment, Bilbo wasn’t sure. Clumsily, and without removing her head from the table, she reached up to pat Bofur on the head, but succeeded only in hitting him in the face. Bofur ducked out of the way of her well-meaning gesture, chuckling.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said.

‘You’re offensively chipper this morning,’ said Thorin to Bofur. ‘What’s your secret?’

‘I keep drinking,’ said Bofur, blasé. At Bilbo’s look he let out a laugh, ‘I’m only kiddin’, Bilbo.’

‘I’m sure,’ Bilbo said magnanimously, and Lobelia murmured something that was _definitely_ disapproval, this time.

Bofur looked most peculiar without his hat on. In fact, now that Bilbo thought about it, he hadn’t seen Bofur’s hat since before the final mission, and his head looked strangely bear without it. Dressed in clean, casual clothes and with no lab coat in sight, Bofur looked like any other Dwarf on the Base; but beyond his clothes, stranger still than his style of dress this morning, Bilbo could see dark circles under Bofur’s eyes, and signs of strain carefully covered up by Bofur’s bright smiles.

‘Did you sleep at _all_ last night?’ said Bilbo, and the question came out far more accusatory than he had intended.

‘I caught a few hours,’ Bofur said with a flick of his hand, his response far too casual for Bilbo’s tastes. He glanced over to Thorin and found his scepticism mirrored in Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo’s frown deepened, and he barely noticed when Bofur started helping himself to his breakfast. Sleeping for just a handful of hours surely couldn’t be healthy, and Bilbo suspected Bofur was exaggerating even that. The last few days had put an enormous amount of strain on everyone, but on top of that Bofur had had the added trauma of Drifting with a Kaiju.

Clearly, he was not alone in his worry, for Lobelia finally raised her head to glare at Bofur, and Bofur, who suddenly realised they were all staring at him intently, froze with a mouthful of scrambled eggs wobbling inches away his mouth. Bilbo saw a brief flicker of emotion pass over his face, too quick for Bilbo to catch, and then Bofur was smiling at them, slyly, carefully.

‘I didn’t expect to see you two so calm today,’ he said.

‘Who, us?’ said Bilbo, thrown off track by this non-sequitur. Bofur affected an air of surprise.

‘Oh, aye,’ he said, ‘haven’t you seen today’s papers?’

Lobelia spun quickly in her seat to face Bilbo, her impending interrogation of Bofur momentarily forgotten. ‘You’re not going to like this,’ she said, eyes full of sympathy, ‘ _either_ of you.’

‘I think it’s quite sweet,’ said Bofur, ‘it’s no’ a bad thing.’

‘Dís was _so_ angry this morning. I think she even raised her voice,’ Lobelia put in, her eyes darting between them nervously, ‘she’s trying to find the leak, although we all know it’s hopeless. These things happen, and it’s too late now, anyway.’

Thorin, at the end of his patience, put down his coffee and said, ‘ _what’s_ too late?’

Bofur reached into his coat pocket and drew out a newspaper, dropping it down onto the table so they could all see. Bilbo let out an undignified noise at what confronted him, because there, splashed across the front page of the most popular newspaper in Ered Luin, was a picture of Thorin and Bilbo. The headline read:

BREACH SEALED WITH A LOVING KISS

Bilbo caught the first line of the leading news article below before he could stop himself:

_Base Zero has yet to confirm what the people of Ered Luin already know to be fact: that veteran pilot Thorin Oakenshield was drafted in to…_

He tore his eyes away. Faintly he thought it was, at the very least, a _good_ photo. Someone must have taken it just moments after Bilbo had popped open the hatch to Thorin’s escape pod, for they were both still in their Drivesuits, their outlines sharp against the bright blue sky above. They were just seconds away from a kiss, caught in a moment of frozen anticipation, the intent clear in their body language – Thorin’s eyes half-lidded, Bilbo’s hands gripping his shoulders fiercely, every emotion he had felt in that moment of time clear on his face for everyone to see.

He buried his face in his hands, caught between embarrassment and horror. Thorin laid one hand on the front page, fingers digging in to the electronic paper and wrinkling it slightly.

‘It must have been someone in one of the rescue helicopters,’ he said, sounding deeply resigned and angry. ‘They must have made a lot of money from selling it on. A _lot_ of money.’

‘Why, _why_ would someone do something like this!’ Bilbo bust out. He felt like his ears were on fire, he was blushing so hard. ‘It was supposed to be a _private moment_.’

‘We don’t know if they _did_ sell it on,’ said Lobelia, ‘a reporter could have snuck into the Base and stolen the camera, or…or…’ she caught Thorin’s eye and trailed off, slumping down into her seat. ‘I know it’s unlikely.’

‘The war is over, now,’ said Bofur quietly, ‘that sense of togetherness that meant that Base secrets were _kept_ secret – well, my guess is that some people are going to be looking into the future pretty soon. They’re going to be thinking, _what’s next_.’

‘Already?’ said Lobelia.

‘It’s the way of the world,’ said Thorin.

Bilbo ran a hand through his hair, unable to decide how he felt about the whole thing. Thorin turned his attention to him, and Bilbo could read the apology in his expression.

‘It’s alright,’ said Bilbo in response, ‘I just…I suppose I need some time to get used to seeing my face all over the front page of the newspaper,’ he said uneasily, avoiding looking at the picture.

‘At least it’s a _nice_ picture. It’s quite flattering, really. You look almost handsome,’ said Lobelia, picking up the newspaper and considering it.

Bilbo let out a bark of laughter, ‘thank you, Lobelia. I think.’

Thorin caught his eye again, and they looked at each other the table top. Their link, Bilbo had been sad to discover, had all but faded overnight, and this morning Bilbo was afforded only a faint sense of what Thorin was thinking and feeling, as though Bilbo were standing at the other end of the Mess and Thorin was trying to whisper something to him. If he concentrated enough, he could feel Thorin’s regret, his simmering anger, and just a hint of worry.

As he and Thorin looked at each other, something tugged at that place in his head where they were still connected, and Thorin’s voice filtered through.

_Are you still sure you want to go on our date?_

It must have taken a great deal of concentration for Thorin to manage such a thing. Bilbo’s perception of him faded away again, and he wondered if this was the last time he and Thorin would be able to speak in this way. Putting aside the sadness such a thought conjured up, Bilbo considered Thorin’s question, because the dwarf was right - the picture in the paper had consequences for their outing to Ered Luin. Would they be mobbed as soon as they set foot outside the Base? Bilbo hadn’t even thought about it. Inside the stronghold, they were both well-known, and treated in much the same way as everyone else was. But the Base was a world away from Ered Luin, a self-contained bubble that meant they were protected and sheltered from such things, and Bilbo had no clue as to how people would react if they were seen out to dinner together. 

But he still wanted to try. They’d just have to work around it. Bilbo gave a little nod in reply to Thorin’s question.

‘Then you’ll have to talk to Tauriel, or Dís,’ said Thorin aloud. ‘They’ll know what to do. They had to deal with the press all the time, back in Erebor.’

‘Are you not coming, too? I would have thought you’d want to hear – oh, your appointment,’ Bilbo said, ‘I’d forgotten.’

‘What appointment?’ asked Lobelia nosily. 

‘I need some more tests done on my eye,’ said Thorin, returning to his breakfast, ‘they’re still trying to decide if they can restore my vision through surgery, or if they should just wait and see if it gets better by itself.’

‘ _Surgery_?’ echoed Lobelia with a shudder. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

‘Let’s hope it just gets better,’ said Thorin, ‘otherwise I am sure to endure pirate jokes from my nephews for the rest of my life.’

Bilbo chuckled and rose from his seat, ‘I’m sure they’re compiling the jokes even as we speak. Anyway, I’ll try and see the Marshall now - get this whole thing sorted. Yes, Bofur,’ he added as Bofur started in on Bilbo’s toast, ‘you may eat the rest of my breakfast.’

Bofur gave him a quick grin. ‘Most generous of you, Bilbo,’ he said.

 

 

 

‘Good morning,’ sighed Dís when Bilbo opened the door to her office, ‘I was wondering when we’d be seeing you.’

Bilbo took in the conference table lined with notes and files and two laptops, and Tauriel, who smiled at him kindly as he entered.

‘Is now a good time?’ he said.

‘It is,’ confirmed Dís, waving her hand towards one of the seats, which Bilbo took. ‘We’re busy, but not _that_ busy. Who knew saving the world would come with so much paperwork.’

‘If there’s anything I can do,’ Bilbo said, feeling almost compelled to help, to work.

‘Just keep getting better,’ said Tauriel, ‘think of it like a holiday.’

Bilbo pulled a face at the thought.

‘Is this a punishment?’ he said jokingly, and Tauriel smiled. ‘Anyway, my impending boredom wasn’t what I came to ask you about. Lobelia mentioned that you already knew about the leak?’

‘We knew about it as soon as we put on the news this morning. It’s on the newspaper’s website, too,’ said Dís. ‘This is exactly what we were afraid of, when we first proposed bringing Thorin back into the fold.’

‘We had a plan in place,’ Tauriel explained to Bilbo, ‘to announce Thorin’s involvement, if we were to be successful in our assault on the Breach.’

‘You were thinking that far ahead?’ said Bilbo, astonished. In the lead up to the mission he hadn’t been thinking of the after at all, aside from his and Thorin’s date.

‘Someone had to,’ said Tauriel. ‘The plan was to release his name to the press, but on _our_ terms, so we could control the story, and could control what sort of information was passed on.’

‘And now, instead, we have rampant speculation,’ Dís said, sitting down heavily in her chair, ‘and not only speculation about my brother’s involvement and his glorious return to Jaeger piloting, but now we have speculation about _you_.’

’Me?’

‘You’re no longer anonymous, Bilbo,’ Tauriel told him, ‘they now know you’re co-pilots – or they can infer as such – as well as romantically involved. You’re a story. The papers and news outlets will run and run with this until they get some sort of confirmation, and even then it’s unlikely they’ll leave you alone.’

‘Would this have happened if Thorin and I were not…involved?’ asked Bilbo.

‘Yes. Perhaps not to such an extent, but yes. You gave up your anonymity the moment you put on your Drivesuit, and if you thought otherwise then you were extremely naïve,’ said Dís bluntly. It’s likely _all_ of the pilots involved will get the same treatment.’

‘Legolas is already making plans to return to New Greenwood,’ said Tauriel, ‘he’ll be sheltered there, and no reporter will dare to trespass on palace grounds, for fear of invoking Thranduil’s wrath.’

‘Where _are_ Legolas and Gimli, come to think of it?’

Dís and Tauriel glanced at each other, smiling knowingly.

‘Do I want to know?’ said Bilbo, half-jokingly.

‘They were at the party, but they left before you arrived. They haven’t left their hospital room since.’

‘The doctors inform me they’re both in very good health,’ said Tauriel, examining her nails studiously.

Bilbo grinned, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t wait to see Kíli and Fíli’s reaction to Legolas and Gimli’s involvement. Gimli was like a little brother to the two of them, and Bilbo had no doubt that Legolas would be in for quite the lecture before he could escape the Base.

Dís shook her head, smile fading. ‘But getting back to our topic – we’re going to have to release some of your details to the press. Basic things, like your service history, nothing personal. Are you comfortable with that?’

‘I suppose I’m going to have to be,’ said Bilbo resignedly.

‘You may also have to do some interviews, perhaps talk to a reporter – selected by _us_ \- of course, and you may have to appear publically-‘

‘Don’t overwhelm him, Tauriel,’ said Dís, smiling at the horrified look on Bilbo’s face, ‘first thing’s first – we release your details. Everything else can be dealt with later. We’ll walk you through it.’

‘But bear in mind that you might have to define yours and Thorin’s relationship at some point,’ said Tauriel seriously. ‘You won’t have to go into detail, but they’ll keep asking the question until they get an answer from you or from Thorin.’

Bilbo heaved a sigh, mind racing with all that they had told him, and, against his better judgement, he began to think of the possible consequences.

‘As if a fledgling relationship needs any more pressure added to it,’ he said.

‘You’ll be alright. We’ll weather it together, and you’re safe on the Base,’ said Dís. Bilbo raised his eyebrows, and she amended, ‘well. Safer, at least.’

‘We…we were going to go on a date,’ said Bilbo softly, looking down at the tabletop. He felt intensely uncomfortable talking about his and Thorin’s date to Thorin’s sister. Dís would have undoubtedly found out about it one way or another, but sitting down and talking to her in such formal, impersonal terms was not something he was comfortable with.

‘We were going to go to Ered Luin on a date,’ continued Bilbo, ‘we hadn’t. Um, we hadn’t decided on any of the details, but…what I’m trying to say is: is it still possible for us to go?’

‘It’s not impossible,’ said Dís gently, ‘it’ll just take some planning. We can arrange for transport, and there are a couple of restaurants in Ered Luin that we trust not to call the press.’

‘If they’re still standing,’ added Tauriel, and Dís nodded her agreement.

‘Leave it to us, Bilbo. I know it’s unorthodox, but we’ll arrange it with you and Thorin. Is the end of the week okay? It’ll be better if you go on your date sooner rather than later. They think you’re both still recovering. We may have hinted to them already that you were confined to your beds for the next week. It’ll buy you some time.’

Bilbo thought about their healing wounds, the persistent numbness in his left arm, Thorin’s impaired eyesight and cracked ribs, and wondered if they were really both ready to do this.

‘Just make sure it’s somewhere with _really_ good food,’ said Bilbo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the marvellous Kelsey for her help with this chapter! <3

Bilbo woke on the day of his and Thorin’s date in the dying grips of a nightmare.

He was gasping for breath, lungs straining for air that wasn’t there, sparks flashing over his vision like fireworks as darkness crowded in over his brain. He couldn’t think, could see beyond the desperate, primal need to take a breath, his heart stuttering in his ribcage, the circuitry suit over his left arm still burning bright and hot, and he was going to die here in the half-dark, but please, please he just wanted to live, couldn’t leave Thorin here on his own-

And suddenly, he could breathe again.

He swore he almost heard his ribs creak under the strain of taking a full breath of air, his greedy lungs taking in as much as they could, expanding to their full capacity. Without looking at his bedside clock, Bilbo could tell it was that unearthly hour just before dawn, when it felt as though the whole Base was holding its breath, waiting for the dozens and dozens of alarm clocks that were about to go off.

Well, Bilbo thought as he wiped the cold sweat from his brow, it had been a while since he had woken up like this. It was almost nostalgic. He supposed it was predictable, that on his first full night out of the hospital wing and back in his own room he would be plagued with nightmares, as though he were conforming to some sort of schedule. It was his first post-battle nightmare, and he briefly lit upon the idea that Thorin’s presence, just one bed over, had kept any sleep disturbances at bay until now.

A foolish, hopelessly romantic idea, Bilbo told himself, throwing back the covers. His and Thorin’s link had vanished altogether in the space of the last twelve hours, and now Bilbo couldn’t even hope to feel a sliver of what Thorin was feeling, or where the dwarf was. It was most peculiar and here, in his cramped, dusty room, he could admit to himself that he felt the loss of the Drift keenly.

He scrubbed a tired hand over his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed for a moment. What were they to do, now that they had no Drift to comfort them? It wasn’t just Thorin and Bilbo who had suffered this loss – all of the other Jaeger pilots would be feeling just the same, he was sure. With an unsettling unease, Bilbo thought of Kíli and Fíli, and the effect the loss of their link would have on them. The two had spent most of the last five years deeply connected, and he was sure it would take them some time to adjust. Worse still were Aragorn and Arwen – neither of whom had yet woken up – who would have to cope with being in the Drift one moment, and being completely separate when they next woke.

Too many troubling thoughts on what should have been a happy day. Bilbo put them aside and tried to smile. They were all alive, that was the main thing, and Eru knew Bilbo was thankful for that every hour of every day. There were other things to worry about for now, such as what Bilbo was going to wear for his date that night and oh _no_ \- come to think of it, he didn’t think he had a single thing to wear!

Trying to stave off his panic, he stood up and opened his wardrobe, which, what with the room being so small, stood only a foot away from his bed. He blinked at the contents; he had expected to be confronted by a pile of unwashed clothes, but instead he stood and stared at the row upon row of clean, ironed uniform jackets and shirts and trousers, _and_ what looked like a full dress uniform. Bilbo hadn’t even realised he had a dress uniform.

There was a note pinned to the shoulder of one of the jackets. The handwriting was loopy, messy to the point of ineligibility, and completely unmistakable. All it said was:

 _You’re welcome_.

Bilbo made a mental note to buy Lobelia the biggest bunch of flowers his salary could buy.

 

 

Bilbo’s day passed achingly slowly, and his nightmare left him jumpy and strangely distracted. He saw Thorin only once, and only then briefly at breakfast, but Bilbo didn’t mind. He had his own work to sort through, and he wasn’t sure his nerves could take being around Thorin all day, knowing that they were going out that same night.

After a bit of wrangling, Bilbo had persuaded Dís to give him some light work. Despite the party-atmosphere and good cheer that still pervaded every corridor of the Base, there were still things to do. The hangar bays stood conspicuously empty, but there was debris to collect and salvage, bits of Kaiju and Jaeger to categorise and decontaminate, teams to organise, and the staff still required food and medical supplies. There was plenty for Bilbo to be getting on with, though he often had to work around his weak left arm, which he kept forgetting wasn’t as dexterous as it once was.

And all at once, the hours flew by, and Bilbo found himself standing once more in front of his wardrobe, pondering if a uniform was too formal for his and Thorin’s date. He scratched at the itchy bandages on his arm, staring worriedly at the neat rows of smart clothes. In the past, there had never been much time to consider fashion, and he had become far too comfortable in uniform to bother with anything else. He was rather regretting it now.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his dilemma, and, in a panic, Bilbo grabbed the only non-military jacket in his wardrobe, shrugging it on over his soft white shirt, hoping that would do. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that his hair wasn’t sticking up in odd places, and with that he was ready.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves and failing, and opened his door.

Thorin looked exactly as he had first stepped foot on the Base, and the affect was enough to make Bilbo momentarily forget how to speak. Twin braids framed Thorin’s face, and his dark hair spilled onto the thick fur collar of his heavy jacket. He looked so very handsome – so handsome, in fact, that Bilbo had no choice but to dive forwards and kiss him squarely on the mouth before he could even get out a ‘good evening’.

Bilbo caught a glimpse of Thorin’s lips curling into a smile as he pulled back, and then he was being drawn back in for another kiss, longer and deeper this time, Thorin making sure to lick his way into Bilbo’s mouth and flick his tongue _just so_ against Bilbo’s front teeth, so as to leave the hobbit shivering when they finally parted.

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, ‘good…evening.’

‘Good evening,’ said Thorin in turn, ducking his head slightly so as to catch Bilbo’s line of sight, which had remained firmly fixed on Thorin’s lips. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Um.’ Bilbo shook himself mentally. ‘Yes, I am. Still going with the eye patch, I see?’

‘Yes. It’s surprisingly useful, actually.’ A brief frown darkened Thorin’s brow. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘No, no,’ Bilbo hastened to say, ‘not at all. I think it makes you look rather dashing. A bit swashbuckling, actually. Rather like a-‘

‘No,’ said Thorin firmly.

‘Alright,’ said Bilbo, smothering the smile that was threatening to break out over his face. ‘Shall we go?’

At Thorin’s nod Bilbo stepped out and into the corridor, and together they made their way to the transport deck. Bilbo shot Thorin a look out of the corner of his eye, taking in that strong profile, which was unmarred by the addition of the eye patch. He had been telling the truth – Thorin did look dashing in it, but the loss of sight in one was a radical change for anyone, and Bilbo didn’t want to point it out any more than necessary.

Kíli and Fíli had, inevitably, presented Thorin with the eye patch as soon as they had found out Thorin’s doctors had decided that there was a good chance Thorin’s vision would heal on its own. They both had since been tentatively skirting around the subject of pirates ever since, with a subtly that Bilbo had not thought they possessed, but with less bravado than usual, as if they were wary of how their jokes would be received. 

‘Here’s your grog,’ Kíli had said with an air of nervousness only that morning, presenting Thorin with a mug of coffee. Thorin’s only response had been to raise a sardonic eyebrow at the comment. Bilbo had later seen Fíli putting up ‘missing parrot’ posters at strategic locations around the Base, complete with a picture of a forlorn looking parrot.

Thorin had borne it all with great dignity, ignoring their hints but not berating them for it, either, content to let them have their fun. There had been a subtle change in Thorin since the mission, a shift that Bilbo was unable to quantify, some combination of tone and bearing and stance that amounted to…Bilbo wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Thorin was walking a little straighter, these days, and was not so inclined to get lost in his own thoughts.

Whatever it was, Bilbo was happy enough knowing that some of the weight had been lifted from Thorin’s shoulders. Perhaps the dwarf could now finally _relax_ , though Bilbo suspected the chances of that happening were on par with Bilbo taking a voluntary holiday.

Tonight, though – tonight was theirs and theirs alone, and the thought caused a small curl of warmth to unfurl in his belly.

 

 

Ered Luin stretched out in front of them, a glittering mass, an entity in its own right that seemed undaunted by recent events. The city was much as it had been since Bilbo saw it last, albeit he was now seeing it on a ground level, and without the external sensors of _Orcrist Sting_. Ered Luin had taken a massive hit, Bilbo knew, but there was little sign of the damage save for a few more helicopters circling the city, and the powerful floodlights that had been set up around the crash site, so bright that Bilbo could see them on their boat ride over to shore.

It was chilly on the way over, and there was a definite bite of winter to the air. It gave Bilbo the perfect excuse to sit as close to Thorin as possible, all the better to listen to the dwarf’s low baritone as he pointed out different parts of the city to Bilbo. Thorin had visited Ered Luin a number of years ago, and so had plenty of anecdotes to tell. When Bilbo pressed for the exact date of Thorin’s visit, he immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Fifty years. Fifty years ago, before Bilbo had even been born, Thorin had been exploring this city with his brother and sister, getting into all sorts of trouble that their father would have likely disapproved of, and their grandfather would have laughed uproariously at.

For the first time, the span of years that stretched between them was keenly felt. To Bilbo, Thorin didn’t look very much older than him, but he’d always been aware that, for Dwarves, looks could be deceiving. Even Kíli and Fíli, young as they were, were twice his age.

The unspoken revelation quietened their conversation, and they were silent until they reached the shore. One of the Base staff was waiting for them at the harbour, hustling them into a large jeep, and Bilbo was thankful to see it had blacked out windows. He had no idea where they were going, but their driver seemed to know, if the way he drove off at top speed was any indication. The skyscrapers and neon lights flew by outside, the streets packed with traffic and life. A car zoomed by, over taking them, honking so loudly as it passed that Bilbo flinched. At every set of traffic lights they stopped at, dozens upon dozens of people swirled around their car as they crossed the road, and Bilbo watched, fascinated, as they passed by in great throngs, secure in the knowledge that he could observe but not be seen. 

Bilbo attempted to breach the silence, asking follow-up questions to Thorin’s earlier stories, but the ease with which they had spoken on the boat had vanished, and their conversation was strangely awkward and stilted. Was it a side-effect of their loss of the Drift, Bilbo wondered. Were they now unable to cope without the steady link to fall back on, without that simple understanding that Bilbo had found so comforting? Bilbo’s heart shrivelled up in his chest at the thought.

But then their car turned a corner, and a long, clean and uncluttered street stretched out before them. They must be in one of the more up-market parts of the city; in Ered Luin, space was worth more than mithril, and this street had plenty of it – there were even trees planted at regular intervals along the pavement. Their car slowed, coming to a stop alongside what Bilbo presumed was their restaurant. A small bit of awning stood out from the entrance, sheltering a section of the pavement from the drizzling rain, and a set of grand, gilded wooden doors stood open, revealing a warmly lit interior.

Bilbo stepped out onto the pavement, smiling when he saw that the gutters and drains in the road were all but choked with confetti and streamers. Thorin came to stand beside him, placing a hand low on Bilbo’s back.

‘Ready?’ he said.

Bilbo shot a nervous look up and down the street. It was quiet, here, and there were very few passerbys, but that didn’t stop Bilbo from being suspicious.

‘A reporter is not going to jump out behind the nearest streetlamp,’ said Thorin mildly when Bilbo failed to reply.

‘You never know,’ said Bilbo, pulling his coat straight, ‘are we sure this is safe?’

‘As safe as Dís and Tauriel can make it, which is about as safe as can be.’

Bilbo mustered up a smile, ‘that’s strangely reassuring,’ he said, ‘but enough dallying, before we really do get caught by reporters. Shall we?’

‘I wasn’t the one who was dallying,’ Thorin said.

‘Do you think we’re smartly dressed enough?’ Bilbo asked, ignoring that last bit and starting forwards, into the welcoming warmth.

‘I don’t think they’ll turn us away.’

‘Yes, but you never know. This is a far nicer restaurant than I had prepared for,’ said Bilbo, taking in the spacious, elegantly styled entranceway.

‘Did you expect Dís to send us to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant?’

‘Well, _no_ , but I hadn’t expected…this.’

He waved his hand distractedly, and in doing so he accidentally gestured to the human headwaiter, who had been waiting for them with a polite smile. Bilbo heard a small bark of laughter from Thorin behind his back, and attempted to breeze past his odd hand waving by pretending it had never happened.

‘Hello,’ he said to the headwaiter.

‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

‘Yes, we have a reservation,’ Bilbo frowned, ‘or at least I hope we do-‘

‘Don’t worry, Mister Baggins, it’s all been taken care of by the Marshall. Right this way, please.’

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. He caught sight of Thorin’s smirk out of the corner of his eye, and elbowed the dwarf in the ribs.

They were lead away, and Bilbo could see another set of doors at the end of the corridor, and beyond that there was the suggestion of a large room, packed with people. He could hear light music and conversation and laughter, and he tensed up as they approached. They couldn’t be going into a room full of people, surely? But Thorin’s hand was on his back again, soothing and calming, and the headwaiter lead away from the waiting crowds and instead up a set of elegant, marble stairs.

Their table was set out on a small balcony, overlooking the main restaurant, in a surprisingly cosy space. They were the only ones up here in the lofty heights, and were afforded with the stunning view of the grand, gilded hall and the diners below. The tables, Bilbo noted, were all set up to face a small stage at the far end of the room, before which was a space clear of furniture.

Bilbo seated himself at the table, drinking in the exquisite architecture and painted ceilings, and finally allowed himself to relax. They would be completely undisturbed up here, and there was no chance of any of the other diners spotting them.

‘I appear to have lost out to a pretty room,’ said Thorin dryly, snapping Bilbo out of his contemplation. The headwaiter had disappeared, and there was a smart menu set out in front of him, in between a gleaming set of cutlery.

‘What? Oh, no, _you’re_ far prettier, don’t worry,’ said Bilbo with a grin, ‘it was a close call, though. This is…this is _perfect_. Aside from the fact that I don’t feel dressed for the occasion.’

‘You look fine to me.’

‘Only “fine”?’ said Bilbo, raising his eyebrows.

‘Well. Perhaps a bit more than fine,’ Thorin conceded, smiling slowly, moving in for a kiss.

‘Oh, seduce me with sweet nothings why don’t you,’ said Bilbo dryly, but he was grinning when Thorin claimed his lips in a kiss.

Their assigned waiter – another human – took their orders, though Bilbo hardly found he cared one way or another as to what he ate. The awkwardness that had hovered between them in the car dissipated, replaced with soft touches and softer looks, and the sound of Thorin’s laughter when Bilbo cut him off half-way through an explanation as to how Dwarves dine to ask,

‘So what’s your favourite book?’

‘I was wondering how long it you’d be able to keep that in,’ said Thorin, taking a large sip of the rich red wine the waiter had poured for them. ‘We haven’t even been presented with the first course yet,’ he said, eyes sparkling with good humour.

‘Did you expect me to wait?’ Bilbo said, ‘we’re here, we’re sat down, we’re having dinner – I think it’s finally time I hear your answer.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Thorin, with mock-reluctance, ‘technically we don’t yet have the _dinner_ part of it-‘

‘Thorin.’

‘You’re very impatient, has anyone ever told you that?’

‘ _Thorin_.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Thorin conceded, letting out a low chuckle. ‘I suppose I _did_ promise.’

‘You did,’ said Bilbo, looking at him intently. When he had asked the question, only a few days ago, it had been driven by an odd, impulsive need to know just this one thing, just in case they were to die. That they would both live to see it answered was still a shock to Bilbo, and the reminder caused his tongue to stick in his mouth and his throat to catch with emotion.

Thorin must have seen something of what he was feeling in Bilbo’s face, for he gently took Bilbo’s hands in his own.

‘You’re going to laugh,’ said Thorin.

‘Is it really that embarrassing?’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps simply unexpected.’

‘Well I was disinterested before, but now I’m very curious. What is it? I promise I won’t laugh. Or at least I promise I’ll try not to.’

‘Thank you, that’s very reassuring.’

There was a small pause.

‘Well?’ prompted Bilbo, ‘what is it? You’re leaving me in terrible suspense, here.’

‘My favourite book,’ said Thorin slowly, ‘is _The Song of Durin and Nazael_.’

Bilbo stared at him. Very carefully, and with the air of one trying to keep his laughter in check, he said, ‘are you telling me that your favourite book…is a _romance_?’

‘It’s not a romance,’ said Thorin immediately.

‘It is a bit,’ Bilbo said, the edges of his lips twitching.

‘It’s an epic.’

‘It also involves Durin, father of the Dwarves, stomping across half of Middle Earth to find his One.’

‘ _Battling_ across Middle Earth-‘

‘In order to prove himself worthy of his kingship, and of her love, all the while never knowing that Nazael is doing exactly the same thing. Yes,’ deadpanned Bilbo, ‘not a romance at all.’

‘It’s a _classic_ ,’ grumbled Thorin, and Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh.

‘It’s an excellent choice,’ he said, ‘no, don’t look at me like that! I honestly mean it. I’m sorry, it was just a bit-‘

‘-unexpected?’

‘A little bit,’ Bilbo conceded.

‘I don’t know if I should be offended by that,’ frowned Thorin.

‘No, no! Not at all. I suppose I was expecting something a little more…modern?’ Bilbo let out a disparaging chuckle. ‘Truth be told, I’m also fond of the odd romance.’

Thorin narrowed his eyes at him. ‘When you say fond, I suspect you are perhaps skirting the truth.’

Bilbo’s resulting bark of laughter was edged with nervousness. ‘Well, I also love the classics, but. Uhm. I may have a few trashy romance novels hidden away in my room.’ He gave a little shrug. ‘Somewhere.’

And now Thorin was smiling at Bilbo, damn him. How quickly the tables had turned.

‘But the classics are much better,’ said Bilbo quickly, panicking at the devious glint that had appeared in Thorin’s eye, ‘have you read the modern retelling of _The Song of Durin and Nazael_?’

It was a good tactic, and successfully diverted Thorin’s attention away from the secret stash hidden under his bed. Bilbo made a mental note to move them as soon as he was back to Base.

As it turned out, Thorin _had_ read the modern reworking of the classic tale, and they passed the time pleasurably, exchanging ideas and thoughts on the works, saying what they found interesting or noteworthy, or what didn’t work, and how the author had so brilliantly made an ancient tale relevant to the modern era. Thorin was able to bring a Dwarven perspective to both novels, which Bilbo found fascinating. He had lived with the Elves for so long that Dwarven culture and history was all but unknown to him, and he absorbed every last word that issued from Thorin’s mouth.

They barely noticed when their first course arrived, their waiter smoothly setting down two bowls of soup, completing his task so quietly that they didn’t even know he was there, too engrossed in each other. The soup – which was Lovage soup with Bramley apple, served with a heavy, dense bread that Bilbo couldn’t remember the name of – was delicious, and surprisingly rustic for their setting. Bilbo preferred it that way, though, and clearly Thorin agreed – their bowls were emptied in short order.

Their conversation ranged far and wide, from books to ancient history and myths, to the places that they had travelled and the people they had met. Thorin wrinkled his nose at the mention of Lothlórien, and made vague insinuations about how structurally unsound the city’s spindly towers were.

‘I slept in those towers for years,’ Bilbo pointed out.

‘If I’d have known that I would have shored them up for you, just to be safe,’ said Thorin. 

When their mains came, Bilbo conceded that his main of seabass was excellent, but that nothing could compare to a Shire Sunday roast, and somehow this single comment diverted the course of their conversation onto good cutlery, which then lead to good-natured bickering over what was better: smithing or gardening.

Bilbo’s wine glass mysteriously emptied and refilled itself more than once, and if it hadn’t been for the food then Bilbo was sure he would be quite drunk but now. As it was he felt wonderfully warm and at peace, talking quietly to Thorin, enjoying their mouth-wateringly good food, and at one point, laughing so hard at something Thorin had said that he almost knocked his wine glass over, and had to wipe away his tears with the back of his hand.

By the time dessert came (a slice of chocolate and ale cake for Thorin, and a glazed apple tart for Bilbo), they were practically in each other’s laps, they were sitting so closely together.

Their attention was diverted to the stage when a man appeared before the heavy red curtain.

‘Ladies and gentleman,’ said the man, gaining the attention of the diners, their chatter quietening, ‘I hope you have all enjoyed your food and your time here this evening. While you are sipping at your coffees and enjoying every last crumb of your desserts, we thought you might enjoy some music. It is my very great honour to present to you the award-winning singer, Lithelien, and her band, The Seven Wonders.’

The man stepped off stage to a round of applause, and the curtain was raised, revealing a beautiful female elf in a glittering ball gown, and a band whose musical instruments sparkled and shone in the low light.

‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ said Bilbo, as the elf stepped forwards to the microphone and began to sing with a low, rich voice that seemed to fill the whole room.

‘She’s not bad,’ conceded Thorin.

‘Not _bad_?’ Bilbo said incredulously. Her voice was so fine it seemed to fill his every sense, and it resonated with emotion.

‘You should hear Dwarven singers,’ Thorin said, ‘Elves often get the limelight, but Dwarves are finer singers than the world gives them credit for.’

‘I’d like that,’ murmured Bilbo, his attention still firmly on the singer, and his head had come to rest in the crook of Thorin’s shoulder. The dwarf was so very comfortable.

‘Perhaps, when we-‘ began Thorin, but he cut himself off abruptly, and Bilbo felt him tense.

‘When we what?’ said Bilbo, blinking up at him.

‘Never mind,’ Thorin said with a shake of his head.

Whatever he had been about to say, Bilbo certainly wasn’t going to hear now – he could clearly see on Thorin’s face that the dwarf was determined not to talk about it, and Bilbo didn’t feel like disrupting their calm by pressing the issue. It could wait.

The elf finished her song to rapturous applause, and her band began to beat out a lively tune that encouraged your knees to bounce and feet to tap along with it. Bilbo watched, enviously, as couples began to fill the cleared space in front of the stage, dancing along to the song.

The next two songs were in much the same tone, but then the beat slowed, and the singer began a song that was full of longing, full of clear highs and aching lows, and edged with melancholy.

The dancing couples stepped in closer to each other, swaying to the music, and Bilbo felt his heart stir in response to the beauty of the sad, soft song.

Thorin must have felt it to, for he hesitantly began to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘When I was in the Breach. When I was….when I was about to detonate the bomb…’

Bilbo tried not to seize up at the mention of the mission. He had been intensely curious as to what had happened for that last part of the mission, but had privately decided that he should never ask. Now it seemed he wouldn’t have to.

‘There was…the only way I can describe it as is a _presence_ ,’ said Thorin, and Bilbo despaired at how haunted Thorin sounded. 

‘Whatever was down there, it will stay with me for a very, very long time. It was like a voice that wormed its way into my head. Into the Drift.’

‘What did it…what did it say?’ asked Bilbo tentatively.

‘It offered me everything I could ever want. It said that it could-‘ here Thorin took a small pause, and Bilbo felt his chest expanding as he took a deep breath ‘-it said it could bring back my family.’ 

‘It could _do_ that? Bring them back to life?’

‘It claimed it could. It claimed that it had the power to do so, and I could _sense_ it’s power. It’s hard to describe, Bilbo, but at that moment, I believed it.’

Bilbo was quiet.

‘All I had to do was accept the offer,’ continued Thorin. ‘And I almost did it. I almost...it was too much. I was beyond caring about the consequences. But do you know what stopped me? Do you know what held me back?’

‘No,’ said Bilbo in a whisper, and he had to remember to breathe.

‘A memory,’ said Thorin, and when Bilbo glanced up at him he saw the dwarf smile a funny little smile. ‘A promise I made to someone I...have come to care for. To end it all at last, no matter what the cost.’

Their eyes met, and the rest of the world fell away from Bilbo’s perception. It was too much, too big, and it was all he could do to hold Thorin’s dark gaze for a few seconds. The quiet stretched out between them, and Bilbo couldn’t take it anymore, and he dove forwards to kiss Thorin, to try to convey what he was feeling with actions, because no words in any language could possibly suffice in that moment.

They finally broke apart when the singer drew her song to a close, but they didn’t stray far, not until their waiter appeared at their table.

‘We hope you have had a pleasant evening,’ said the waiter, smiling at them, and he shook his head and held up his hand when Thorin reached for the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘No, no, sir,’ he said, ‘we require no payment tonight, not from the two of you. It is the very least we could do for you.’

Thorin’s first response was to frown. His second was to draw out his wallet regardless. ‘It has been a good evening for both of us, and I’d like to honour that. I want to pay.’

‘Sir, please, we insist,’ said the waiter, ‘we are all in agreement – you do not have to pay.’

‘And I insist that we _do_ ’ said Thorin, holding out a wad of notes that would more than cover their bill.

‘We cannot possibly-‘

‘You _can_ -‘

‘How about,’ interrupted Bilbo, ‘ _I_ pay?’

‘You’re not paying,’ said Thorin.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows at him. ‘Oh, I’m not, am I?’

‘I’ll pay this time, if you pay next time,’ the dwarf explained. ‘I think that’s fair.’

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo spluttered around a laugh, ‘is this your way of-‘

‘Yes, I am trying to ask-‘

‘-in a very roundabout, sneaky way-‘ put in Bilbo, but Thorin studiously ignored him, continuing on as if Bilbo hadn’t spoken.

‘-if you would go out to dinner with me again.’

Bilbo snorted. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said.

‘That’s not an answer,’ Thorin said.

‘You shouldn’t even need to ask,’ said Bilbo, standing up to put his jacket on. ‘Of course I’ll go out with you again, though I don’t know when that’ll be possible.’

‘We’ll find a way,’ said Thorin, his furrowed brow smoothing away, his eyes crinkling with happiness, mouth curling in pleased satisfaction.

‘The waiter seems to have disappeared on us,’ Bilbo noted.

‘I’ll leave some money on the table.’

Bilbo hummed in agreement, feeling sleepy and heavy with wine and food. With a last look around the hall, they took their leave, walking down the stairs and out onto the street, into the freezing winter’s night. 

Thorin checked his watch. ‘Our driver should be here any minute now,’ he said.

‘I hope so,’ said Bilbo, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. He could still hear faint sounds of the music issuing from the restaurant, and if it hadn’t have been for the sense that they could be spotted at any moment, it would have been quite pleasant to wait in the bright entranceway, looking out into the dark city.

‘We may as well do something while we wait,’ said Thorin, putting out his hand to Bilbo.

Bilbo looked from the hand to Thorin to the hand again, laughing incredulously. ‘Really? Here and now?’

‘Really,’ said Thorin seriously, though his mouth was twitching into a smile. ‘I saw the way you were looking at the dancers earlier. This is hardly a ballroom, but I think it’ll do.’

Chuckling, and shaking his head, and hardly able to believe what he was about to agree to, Bilbo took his hand. Thorin drew him near, his other hand slipping under Bilbo’s jacket to rest on his hip. They moved very gently, just as the dancers had during that final song. The night was cold, but Bilbo barely felt it, pressed up against the warmth of Thorin’s front as he was, their fingers tangling together, breaths mingling.

Very quietly, Thorin began to hum, directly into Bilbo's ear, at first so softly that Bilbo thought he was imagining it. Biting his lip, Bilbo did not comment on it, and his reward for his silence was the humming smoothly transitioning into singing. Thorin had a wonderful voice - dark and thrilling and smooth, so low and deep that Bilbo's toes curled in response. It was a voice that was perfectly suited to ancient halls and faraway mountains, to singing tales by the light of an open fire, but here, in Ered Luin, it was all for Bilbo, and he treasured every second of it. 

The words of the song were in Khuzdûl, and so Bilbo did not know their meaning, but there was emotion aplenty in Thorin's voice, and Bilbo daren't even breathe, lest he cover up even one note of the song. Privately, Bilbo thought Thorin a better singer than the elf, but he knew he might be slightly biased.

They were, to Bilbo’s relief, unbothered by the few people who passed them by, just another couple celebrating the end of the war. They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until their car arrived a few minutes later, and when they were parted, they were both smiling the soft, secret smiles of the truly happy.

 

 

 

A week later, Bilbo found himself once again standing before his wardrobe, contemplating his clothes. His dress uniform was oddly tight in places, and far too form-fitting for his tastes, though he had to admit that he did look rather smart in it. It was hardly comfortable, but it was required for their outing that night, and he would have to put up with it for the first few hours, at least.

The hat, though, was firmly staying in his hand rather than on his head.

There was a knock on the door, and Bilbo said, ‘come in!’ vaguely, distracted by putting his gloves on.

It was, of course, Thorin who entered. Bilbo spared a brief moment to hungrily take in the sight of Thorin in his dress uniform, the dwarf’s broad shoulders accentuated by the cut of the jacket, the dark blue a perfect match for his colouring.

Thorin, meanwhile, was looking around the tiny living space confusedly. ‘Bilbo, I’m not sure if you know this, but your room seems to be made entirely of books.’

Bilbo snorted a laugh, tutting in the next moment when he found he couldn’t do the funny little clasp that sat just below his collar. The bandages that had hidden the entirety of his left arm had been removed only yesterday, uncovering a spider-web of scarring that ran down the length of Bilbo’s arm, a ghostly tracing of the patterns from his circuitry suit. He had been set a series of exercises to do every day, to strengthen the muscles in his arm and increase his dexterity, but Bilbo secretly suspected that his arm would never really be the same again – his fingertips were still numb, and on bad days he could hardly do anything with his left hand.

‘Here, let me,’ said Thorin, seeing that he was struggling. He stepped forwards to help, but tripped up over a stack of files that Bilbo had set down beside his bed.

‘Oh, careful! I’m sorry, there’s things _everywhere_. I keep meaning to tidy it.’

‘It’s alright,’ said Thorin, and he had thankfully managed to catch himself by gripping the edge of Bilbo’s desk.

‘Mind that, too – oh here, let me-‘ Bilbo reached down and quickly snatched up the book Thorin had been about to step on, putting it on his bed.

‘Your room is a bit of a hazard,’ Thorin said, his gloved fingers deftly doing up Bilbo’s collar.

‘I know. Lobelia would have a fit if she saw it.’ Bilbo tugged at the done-up collar, wincing at how tightly it sat at his throat, far too constricting for his tastes. ‘How are they, by the way? Is everyone else ready?’

‘They are. We’re just waiting on Lobelia, although Bofur assures me that she’ll be along any second now.’

‘And how many times has he said that?’

‘Quite a few.’

‘She’ll be at least another half an hour, then,’ Bilbo huffed.

‘We’re also going by helicopter, it would seem.’

‘What? I thought we were going by boat?’

‘Kíli insisted,’ said Thorin with that wry, warm tone that he always used when he was speaking of his nephews. ‘He said we needed to arrive in style. Dís, surprisingly enough, agreed.’

‘That’ll be quite the entrance.’

Thorin murmured his agreement. ‘Tonight’s all about making a _statement_ ,’ he said. ‘I know for a fact that Dís’ speech is going to be quite shocking.’

‘Is it?’ Bilbo said, and he couldn’t help but grin with glee. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind sitting for hours on end in his uncomfortable uniform after all.

Thorin nodded, smirking. ‘Parts of it was penned by Tauriel, too.’

The heroes of Ered Luin had been cordially invited to a huge celebration of their achievements, hosted by the city’s richest inhabitants and the mayor, and endorsed by dozens of aristocrats and wealthy citizens from other countries and cities, too. The upper echelons of Middle Earth society would all be in attendance. They also happened to be the very same people who had taken away the Jaeger programme’s funding, brought the LADC to a close, and advocated the building of a wall that everyone had known wouldn’t work.

To say that the members of Baze Zero grudgingly accepted the invitation was an understatement.

Had it really been a week since their assault on the Breach? It felt as though it had all happened years ago. To some members of the staff, a week was enough time to make plans and look elsewhere. Their numbers had already been depleted by personnel going home, taking well-earned leave, or simply quitting their jobs. Bilbo couldn’t blame them, but it had also gotten him thinking about his own future. The Base’s operations were slowly winding down, and he had no idea if it would continue to function as a centre of operations. He was clueless as to what to do next, and he no idea what _Thorin_ was going to do. Bilbo hadn’t yet dared to breach the subject.

It hadn’t helped that, yesterday morning, Bilbo had picked up the day’s newspaper to see the headline:

THE KING RETURNS?

And below that had been an old picture of Thorin, in the Drivesuit he had worn while piloting _Seventh Durin_ , looking heroic and noble and, Bilbo had thought, _kingly_.

‘That’ll be worth having to fend off dozens of reporters,’ said Bilbo with a heavy sigh. He had been forewarned about the possible press presence at the event, and he had been fully briefed on what to say by Dís and Tauriel only that morning.

‘If they bother you, distract them with Kíli and Fíli,’ said Thorin, ‘my nephews love the limelight. They won’t mind being used as a distraction.’

‘Ha, that’s a good plan, I’ll have to remember that,’ Bilbo said, quickly checking over his appearance in the mirror. His uniform was a deep, rich shade of blue, so smart that he was conscious of every last bit of lint that might be sticking to it.

Thorin, behind him, had reached down onto his bed to pick up the discarded book. Bilbo could see him looking at the spine in the mirror.

‘You have so many books,’ Thorin said musingly, ‘I hope the old palace library is still intact, but if not, we could also build you a private-‘

He stopped mid-sentence, frozen in place. Bilbo stared at his reflection in the mirror, not able to believe what he had just heard. His breath seemed very loud in the sudden silence.

Very, very slowly, Thorin looked up from the book in his hand. They locked gazes. Thorin was wide-eyed, his mouth slightly parted.

‘Did you…’ started Bilbo, turning around to look at Thorin properly. ‘I mean, did you…’ he trailed off, unable to put it into words.

‘Yes,’ said Thorin, and he sounded as if he had been gargling broken glass. ‘I don’t mean to be presumptuous. I know you’ve spent your life moving from one place to the next. I know you might want to settle here, in Ered Luin.’

‘Thorin,’ said Bilbo, and it was strange to be the calm one, and Thorin the one who was so visibly fraying at the seams. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘There’s grass in Erebor. I’ve heard the mountain is beginning to recover. You wouldn’t need to wear boots.’

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo said again with the utmost gentleness. His heart was beating as fast as a rabbit’s inside his chest.

The dwarf drew himself up to his full height. ‘We’re planning on reclaiming Erebor. It’s going to be rebuilt. It’ll be hard, and laborious, and will take many years, but dwarves do not shirk from hard work, and my people don’t want to spend the rest of their lives in refugee camps.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I think…I think I can be the one to lead them home.’

‘You can,’ said Bilbo, finding his voice once more. ‘I’m sure you can, Thorin.’

Thorin gave a little shake of his head, still set on saying his piece.

‘But I was wondering if you would like…to come with me,’ he said tentatively, his bright blue eyes so full of fragile hope that Bilbo’s heart ached.

Bilbo, mind racing, thought about the offer. He thought about his skills, about how he could be useful to the Dwarves in their monumental task. He thought of all he had yet to learn about their fascinating culture. He thought about his friends, about Kíli and Fíli and Dís, who would, he had no doubt, be joining them.

But above all he thought of Thorin. Because he didn’t want their relationship to end, or for them to part, not now, and clearly Thorin felt the same.

A grin broke out across his face.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll go East with you, Thorin.’ He reached for the dwarf, because how could he not? And in turn Thorin’s shoulders slumped, joy and relief bright in his eyes.

‘Of course I will,’ Bilbo said in between breathless kisses, ‘of _course_ I will.’

It was about time for another adventure, after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's DONE. Sorry again for the long wait, I hope you all enjoyed, and I hope I did the date justice :D
> 
> If any of you lovely readers are interested, there'll be a Lobelia oneshot coming out soon. It'll be entitled _I would rather be ashes than dust_ , and it should be out in the next week or so.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!


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